This afternoon, I was sent to go get a Variety from the newstand on the Unnamed Studio Lot. (The office UHS's writing and production staff occupies is across the street, in a big fancy building.) It was cool outside, cloudy and crisp, and I was glad of my cardigan until I got lost in the midst of the fake buildings and streets, my pace increasing, my deoderant under assault.
So I squinted at my map, trying to figure out if the street I was on could possibly be Midwestern Road (as opposed to Brownstone Avenue), until I turned a corner and found the soundstages behind the facades, emblazoned with numbers that, like stars, oriented me towards the north.
It was only when I saw the soundstages that I stopped worrying about jaywalking across those empty streets. It's summer, and TV production hasn't started up yet. Traffic is light.
I found the newsstand quickly after that.
When I got back to our building, I saw that what could only be the writing staff of Unnamed Hit Teen Drama (their offices are on the same floor of ours) was still sitting on the steps outside the building. The writer's assistant took notes on a laptop, and the writers discussed character names I knew in passing as they enjoyed the strong breeze, the flat grey skies.
Upon my return, I delivered the Variety, the 21 cents in change, and the receipt. And then I got back to work, filing and sorting office supplies. (Which are just like the office supplies in any other office. Except that we have TONS of them.)
Three days in, and sometimes the office feels like just another office. But then I remember what's actually going on.